Operation Bee
by kittybriggs
Summary: An old but familiar face leads to Nick Fury re-opening Operation Bee. He discovers how SHIELD came to know of the Winter Soldier and his origins, as well as a surprising revelation about the Stark Family. Spys, covert missions, explosions and thrilling romance. Set in a war torn world, post-Captain America but pre-Iron Man. Bucky/OC, Howard/OC.
1. Prologue

A new e-mail landed in Director Fury's inbox. The man shook his head in mild surprise, as the distinctive chime of new mail snapped his fatigued senses into the present and out of his worried thoughts. Reading the subject line of the e-mail did not help with these worries.

_"Russian Recon: Sightings confirmed re: Bunker 47-DVF-72." _

Taking the mug of coffee in his right hand, and wishing he'd started drinking earlier due to it's less than lukewarm status, Nick double clicked the e-mail, entered his security code and began reading.

_***For the eyes of Director Fury only* **_

_ Director Fury, _

_ After reading the preliminary documents, and having been deployed to Russia for the allotted amount of time, on my return I can confirm the rumours of the re-awakening and use of Bunker 47-DVF-72. Please find attached recon photos, documents and transcripts._

_Agent Romanov _

Opening the attached files, he found a series of photographs that showed a group of Russian armed forces escorting a young man through the snow and into a Soviet bunker. The face seemed to stir a memory within Fury, but he could not quite grasp it fully. Running facial recognition across the photos led to well known Russian Soldiers, but no matches for the young man. Shaking away the nagging thought in his mind, he continued reading the notes, the bunker last reported as disused, and as no particular threat or future threat.

Fury entered the bunkers identification number into the database and once again saw the same result. With an upturned mouth, and a slight growl, Fury internally cursed the last Agent that composed the report on the bunker. They should have seen this coming. _'Useless, overpaid, slacking-' _

_***Report composed by Agent Coulson* **_

A tinge of guilt washed away Fury's feelings of resentment. He smiled slightly, his tense body relaxing. He knew that if this report was written by Agent Coulson, it was done to the best possible degree of accuracy and credibility.

It had been a time since... The incident. The last time he had seen him was when the medics took him away. From then on, he had heard nothing, as regulation had to be kept to. He did not know if his Agent was dead or alive. Protocol instructed that after such a possibly fatal injury such as that, all ties with the Agent were to be cut, so that emotional ties to the deceased would not be formed, or that the Agent could retire and live the rest of their life in peace.

'Let him be alive. I want to believe that Agent Coulson lives...'

Returning back to the documents, he had no reason to doubt that the bunker was previously not seen as a threat. 'The activity is recent then, and so are the sightings...'

Looking again at the pictures, specifically at the young man, Director Fury once again took the coffee up in his hand and sipped at the black liquid. Skimming through the documents to find any key words to trigger his memory, a knock at his office door brought him back to reality.

"Captain Rogers and Stark are wanting to meet with you, sir."

"Thankyou, Agent Hill." mumbled Fury, as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. _'Stark. Bloody Stark. I could do without him right now... And he's with Cap? Since when did they-' _

And then he remembered. Those two names together triggered the memory.

Lifting himself from his chair and in one swift move, putting on his leather jacket, Fury left his office, carefully locking it behind him. Walking with strong purpose down the many flights of stairs to the bottoms of the ship, he arrived at the entrance to the storage facility quickly. Swiping his card through the lock device, a satisfactory beep and green light gave him the signal to push through the door into the cold and dark basement.

Director Fury slowly made his way down the corridor and to the door marked 'Early Records'. Taking a deep breath and turning the door handle, the dust of the years escaped the room.

_'I hate it down here. Why can't they just get the cleaners down here and put a little more light on the problem!?' _

Arriving at a cabinet, Fury pulled the draw open and reached instinctively inside, drawing out a single picture. The face looking back at him was the one he had just seen on his computer screen.

_'But that's impossible...' _

The picture in Fury's hand was at least 70 years old, and the other taken on 23/7/2012. Well at least he now knew why he hadn't come up on facial recognition. He needed someone to sort all these paper documents and get them onto the system. Turning the picture over, two words were scrawled in loopy handwriting: _Winter Soldier._

Taking the file from the cabinet, Director Fury started to re-read the operation notes, not before checking its name.

_**Operation Bee.**_


	2. Hangover Cure

"Damn these early morning meetings!" Howard cursed as he looked at his watch on his bedside table. Grabbing the worn brown leather, and fastening the gold clap, he swung his legs out of the bed and stood quickly. Momentarily freezing, the feeling of heaviness and nausea swept over the man, and within seconds he was collapsed back onto the bed.

_'I should not have let Johnny take me out last night... Never again...'_ Howard mentally noted. Memories of the cabaret dancers and liqueur stained tables trickled back. Had he and Johnny been alone? '_No, Johnny had brought along his new girl. Harriet, was that her name?'_ And that's why they had gone to the

Cabaret Bar, because Harriet worked there. And not as a barmaid. Howard would have never gone to such a sleazy place if Johnny hadn't have dragged him out. He was slightly grateful to his friend, as he had organised the night in an attempt to try and cheer Howard up.

Even though the war was over, and stocks in Stark Industries had taken a peak from the governments returns on weapons, Howard's attitude towards life had taken a turn for the worst. With no Military department to be able to give him challenges, as well as a lovely big lab to play in, he had no drive for inventing anymore. It was as if he was drifting, almost waiting, for the next big disaster so he could solve someone's problems.

Slowly this time, Howard rose out of the bed, went to the en-suite to wash and shave, then returned to dress. Choosing smart trousers and white shirt, he added his burgundy jacket, thinking that it might liven up the dull boardroom. Walking out of the bedroom, the sound of a snoring Johnny drew Howard to the spare room, where a woman's fur coat lay stuck in the doorway, stopping it from fully closing. Howard didn't remember letting Johnny and his lady friend stay over, but knowing Johnny's persuasive arguments, he was probably won over. _'Cheeky son of a...'_

Grabbing a bagel from the kitchen, Howard quietly closed the front door behind him and started to walk east. He didn't live in a bad neighbourhood, but it wasn't the best in New York. A lot of Howard's money was tied up in research laboratories all over America, and he even had sold his Chrysler so his personal lab could have the best equipment installed. He was a man who was just comfortable financially, but one wrong choice in investment, or a dip in the stock market could cause Stark Industries a bit of trouble. But that's how he like to live. On the edge. It kept Howard on his toes and his wits about him.

Arriving some 25 minutes later outside Stark Building, he entered the lobby and gave a small nod to the receptionist, Eva. Immediately the girl blushed into her morning coffee cup, and hastily tried to hide her smile. This amused Howard greatly. Yes, he was one for the women, but there was something about attracting women at the workplace that seemed to be much more thrilling than anywhere else.

Absent mindedly walking through the corridors to the boardroom, day dreaming about where he may take Eva out for a drink, Howard didn't notice the unusually quiet and empty offices, only noticing the main Laboratory being locked shut when he arrived opposite the boardroom.

Spinning around himself, analysing his surroundings, Howard face contorted into confusion and worry.

"STARK!" barked a harsh, gravelly voice that came from the boardroom.

_'Oh crap...'_

* * *

_With this beig my first FanFic, just wondering how I'm doing?! Do people want me to carrry on as I am, or cut to the chase! Thanks, Kitty :) x_


	3. Back In The Driving Seat

"Well, well, well…. You look as if you've had one heck of a rough night."

"Colonel Philips." gulped Howard, unconsciously pulling at his crumpled shirt and running his hand through his scruffy hair. "What can I do-"

"I think we can cut out the pleasantries, don't you Stark?" the Colonel grinned menacingly. Taking out a cigar from the top pocket of the dark green military coat, lighting it swiftly with a plain silver lighter, the older man lifted his legs up onto the table, leaning back and emitting smoke from his mouth. Howard flinched slightly, trying to conceal it from the intruder in front of him. '_That table top is antique Italian leather…' _

"I hope you haven't forgotten the little… _Incident _that occurred in Europe, Stark." he crowed, taking the cigar out of his mouth and unceremoniously flicking ash onto the wooden floor. "Taking an army Douglas DC-3 for a personal errand would have gotten you a court martial if you weren't a civilian. Bringing it back in less than mint condition, however, was a whole other ball game."

"With all respect, Colonel-"

"I could have easily dragged you through county courts, federal courts. Hell, I would have taken it to the Supreme Court if Rogers hadn't come waltzing back! But 'cause he did, I let it slip my radar."

Howard waited for more from the Colonel, but he was silent. Looking at the man in front of him and recalling the last time he had seen him, there was certainly a difference. Last time he had seen him was in England in the Operations room in the closing days of the war. Now, seeing him in his own boardroom several years later, his age had seemed to have caught up with him. This hair was freckled with more grey hairs, his eyes seemed puffier, and the wrinkles had doubled around them. He had gained weight, with his uniform straining under the new pressure. Observing more closely, his uniform had more creases than Howard's clothes, and his boots were scuffed and dirty. Frowning slightly, Howard slowly walked to the chair opposite the Colonel, and slipped into the cold leather.

"Why are you here Colonel?" Howard crooned.

"You owe me Stark," Philips growled, but then his face dropped and he sighed. "You're the only man I know who could help, or even understand what in God's name has gone on…"

* * *

"Get up! Come on, Johnny." Howard shouted through the door when he returned home. He was panting heavily, after running through the streets of New York back home. Adrenaline raced through him and a slight grin crept across his face.

"What?" murmured a low voice. "Howie…. What's wrong? Argh!" Johnny exclaimed as the curtains were flung wide open, and the sun entered the room. The slumbering female form next to him groaned in protest also.

"I'm going back!" garbled Howard, throwing numerous pieces of clothing back at their owners.

"What? Howie. You can't!" Johnny snapped as the news hit him hard. Eyes wide, he continued. "What about Stark Industries? This house? What about Eva?"

"Johnny. I'm not gonna be gone long." Howard spoke earnestly. Looking at his friend, he smiled. "I need someone I can trust to keep the business ticking over. And to look after the house. Here." Dropping the front door keys onto the bed in front of his friend he gave a small laugh as he saw Johnny's jaw drop. "Now get dressed so you can drive me to the airport."

Sprinting out of the room and to his own, he was soon throwing clothes into his weather worn suitcase, making sure that his best clothes were in there. No doubt Johnny would delve into his wardrobe while he had the chance, and Howard didn't want the Italian shirts he got while he was over there to be ruined…

It had been sometime since Howard was this excited. He was happy. He had a project, a purpose. He felt wanted and needed, even if he didn't know what he was going to be doing. All the Colonel had told him was that it was back to Europe, and he could have his old Lab in Blighty back. And it was a beautiful laboratory; very clean and organised. He wondered if the old lab assistant he had, Christopher, would still be there. And would Peggy…. Would Agent Carter still be active? Even though his attempts at trying to even get the woman on a date had been futile, working with her would be just like the last time he had been there.

But the Colonel told him that he was no longer working for the American Army and its allies. This was a mission that was beyond the Government and the Military of both America and Great Britain. Howard didn't quite know what that entailed, and if that meant the lack of a certain Agent, but he was sure that all would be revealed when he arrived in England.

* * *

"Take care, buddy." Johnny quietly said, as he embraced his friend. Patting Howard's back, he pulled the suitcase out the back of his Cadillac and placed it on the tarmac. "Don't take all the women before I come over to visit!" he joked, smiling weakly.

"Thanks, man." Howard smiled back. "And I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry." Giving a mock salute, he took the suitcase in his hand and walked towards the parked plane. Giving the bag to the Private stood at the plane's hold, he skipped up the flight of stairs, turned and gave a wave to his friend, but he was already gone.

"Stark! You're late. Get this show on the road."

"On my way, Colonel" Howard frowned, making his way to the cockpit.

He was back in the driving seat, in his prime. It was time for an adventure. It was time to live.

* * *

_Hope you're enjoying my story! Any ideas/criticisms? Review please! Thanks, Kitty x_


	4. Exile

_"You mean we're not staying in England? What the hell is going on, Colonel?!"_

* * *

From the moment they landed at White Waltham Airfield the Colonel had been adamant that he would not be giving Stark any information. Anything said was in reference to the secrecy and concealment of what was in hand, Howard wasn't even allowed to visit his laboratory that he was so keen to rediscover. Three days had passed like this, being ushered back and forth from the Brown's Hotel, Albemarle Street to the underground war rooms. There he was kept in the dark, sometimes literally, in the main conyrol room as rolling blackouts still hit post-war London.

His loneliness was soon curbed, however, as the members of Rogers' old team slowly started appearing in the corridors. Firstly he had seen 'Dum Dum' Dugan in the canteen one evening along with Jim Moirta. After greeting them he was quickly sanctioned back to his holding room. Complaining loudly to the workers that passed through the control room, soon Falsworth, Dernier and Jones had appeared, along with several magazines. Howard was grateful for the engineering material to read, and even more so the _'womens'_ magazine that had been slipped in there...

"I appreciate this a lot, men. Thank you." Howard smiled warmly, as he shook the hands of his old friends. "Have you seen any other American's back round here apart from the original gang, or just me?"

"Non", "No man, only you" came the answers.

But soon they had been moved on, with little time for talk of what was happening or any ideas they had. Trying to leave with them, Howard was stopped by a uniformed officer. When confronted, he was told that his place was in the control room, and he was not to leave.

That night at the Hotel, collapsing onto the lush, silky material of his room's bed, Howard sighed in frustration. This is not what he had expected when he was given the chance to return to work. There was no need for him from anyone. He was a spare part, hanging around until his time was to come._ I'm not a man that needs to be sat around waiting_ he had told himself, and that night he made his way out into the streets of London.

Walking around the streets of Camden, he entered pubs by the dozen, each full of well rounded old men, smoking, gambling and drinking away their sorrows. The city had only just started to recover from the devastation of the Blitz, with houses and banks still rubble. Joining in the old fashioned drinking games and singing along with the piano at each stop, the feeling of being followed grew and grew. Returning back to the Hotel, Howard made his way up to his floor, but back tracked through the corridors. His premonition proved him right as he made his way down the corridor once again and saw a man dressed in a dark suit falter outside Howard's door. When the man turned and saw Howard, he quickly rushed away.

Howard felt as if he were a fugitive or a traitor, and that next day he decided it was time. Howard finally made an escape past the young Private that guarded his makeshift prison; the memories from the years previous led Howard to the Colonel's office. There, he had confronted him.

"You mean we're not staying in England? What the hell is going on, Colonel?!" Seething, Howard paced through the underground corridors behind the smaller, rounder man trudging along in front of him.

"Stark, I brought you here to help with a delicate situation. And that situation has recently become even more of a pain than I could even begin to imagine." Turning on his heels to face the young man, the beetroot red face shocked Stark, and the thick smoke billowing out of the seventh cigar of the day choked him. Philips held his temples between his thumb and forefinger, massaging them roughly, and then rubbing his eyes. Stark seemed to think that they were more blood shot than usual. "I do not think that, at this time, you understand what personal hell could be unleashed if you pried any further. Give me until tomorrow, boy, and then I will set free this mayhem on you." And with that, he walked away through the door, huffing and puffing at his cigar.

Turning on his heels, Stark stalked back, watched as the young Privates face was overcome with shock at his charge walking past him to his prison room, and slammed the door with a force that made the lamp on the ceiling swing.

A click from the door made Howard turn angrily. The young man's face with a nervous smile leant around the door, and an equally nervous chuckle broke the tense silence.

"Excuse me Sir, but how...?"

"The glass in the door has a blind on it. I can see your shadow, lad. I know when you sneak off for a break for a ciggie and don't get someone to cover. Don't let the Colonel find you disappearing like that. " The soldier gulped nervously, Stark seeing the internal cursing he was giving himself. "Keep your eyes on the shadows, Private."

"And so should you" came a voice from inside the control room.

* * *

_Sorry it's been so long for an update, but I had writers block and I've been on holiday! However, back to normal! Like it so far? Any ideas/thoughts/comments? It's very encouraging/nice to here from you :) x_


	5. Authority

Turning swiftly, Howard tried to focus his eyes to the book shelf from where the intruder's voice came.

There stood a female figure, dressed in a knee length pleated red skirt, white blouse with three-quarter sleeves, a belt that clung to her waist, and red patent heels. With a cigarette in hand, the small red glow, along with the cloud of smoke drew Howard's attention to the auburn hair that was, unfashionably, let loose. The wave of the hair framed a face that had a sharp jaw-line and pointed nose, but a heart-shaped curve that put the features into proportion. A slight hint of red lay on the lips, and they spoke once again.

"I'm afraid that I may have to report Jennings."

"Ex-excuse me?" stuttered Howard, taken aback by the British accent and casualness of her tone.

"Jennings. He let our best asset slip past him." The young woman walked towards the table, took a last drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table. "Imagine if you hadn't returned, Mr Stark." she drawled, a slight smirk skipping over her lips.

"I wasn't leaving; I was just getting some fresh air. I-"

"Fresh air with Colonel Phillips? Didn't think he'd enjoy the sights of Regent Park."

A slight low giggle expressed the amusement of the woman stood across the table from Howard. He looked at her, smiling too, at the thought of being hand in hand with Colonel Phillips, skipping through the Chrysanthemums. Looking up as her eyes creased in amusement, they were of a deep blue, or shade of green; he could not tell from that distance.

Walking around the table towards her, he extended his hand and received hers in his, slowly shaking with surprising grip.

"I did not come here to talk about your hobbies, sadly. I came here to brief you on your imminent journey."

Taking several paces back and sighing, Howard took the back of a chair and pulled it from underneath the table, spinning it around to face his conversational partner, and sat down in expectance, crossing his leg so his left ankle rest on his right knee.

"Anything you could tell me about what I am doing here and where I'm to be going would be greatly appreciated, Miss...?"

The young woman cocked her head to the left and exhaled hard.

"So he hasn't told you anything? What a foolish, idiotic..." She trailed off, placing her fist up to her teeth, and biting her knuckle, shaking her head.

"Who? Colonel Phillips?" She nodded. "I wouldn't let anyone hear you say such things about him. I promise I won't tell." Howard cheekily smiled, leaning forwards towards her. She perched on the table to the side of him, throwing her unruly hair behind her back.

"Oh, I don't worry about him. I can say almost anything about him and he'd just laugh it off."

Confused and intrigued, Howard started to speak, but was quickly interrupted by a cry of indignation.

"You were going to let him get on that plane without telling him a single bloody thing? Honestly, your levels of compassion are beyond me!"

"Will you let me get a word in edgeways woman?!" roared the Colonel from the door, making Howard jump up from his seat in a flash. "The documents are here. Everything is fine. The ball's in motion. Jeese, you've definitely inherited your mother's impatient streak..."

Just as quickly as he arrived, Colonel Philips trhew down a paper bound file and turned on his heels out of the room. Howard, taking the file that was being handed to him by his new companion, stood in shock at the new reserved behaviour of the Colonel.

"Did he just...? I don't understand... You should be packing your bags by know!" Howard scoffed, amazed by the lack of anger and control of the Colonel relating to what just happened. A member of staff, much lower than himself probably, and a woman as well, had just completely undermined his authority. Gaping at the young woman, she just giggled once again and pushed her hair back off her face.

"Being a Colonel's niece has major benefits. One is that I can say almost what I like, knowing that if he goes too far he'll hear an earful from Mummy." Silence as Howard shook his head and laughed slightly himself. "But enough of that. You have some reading to do before your posting tomorrow. I'll arrange for a driver to take you back to your hotel. And please stay there tonight. Don't go wandering off again..."

Walking towards the door with a cigarette box in hand, she stopped and turned as Howard spoke.

"I'll only promise to stay in tonight if you tell me your name." bartered Howard, jumping around the table and towards the door also.

"I can't tell you my real name, but look at that file. That can be my name for now."

Howard looked down at the paper bound file.

"Top Secret?" he joked, giving a cheeky grin.

"No! Don't be silly. You can call me Bee."

* * *

_Sorry it's been so long, but I've gone back to Uni! Thanks to my followers and reviews! I'd love for you to shape where this goes, so please review and tell me any ideas you may have! Thanks! Kitty xx_


	6. Origins

_Foreign voices rang throughout his brain, and the throbbing from his right arm, half way down, slowly brought the man to consciousness. Eyes slowly opening, blinking several times due to the bright lights, a groan of pain and aching rang about the room._

_Slowly rolling his head to the right to see what the cause of his pain, his eyes did not seem to focus on anything. He could make out the outline of his body outstretched on a bed in front of him, the rails surrounding the bed, and a tall pole to his right. He believed that he was in a hospital, and on seeing a needle plastered to his arm, it was soon pulled roughly out, causing the young man to wince and grit his teeth. But the sound of pain was quickly halted by a sharp intake a breath. Something was not right._

_Opening his hand and letting the needle fall upon the bed where he lay, the man's mind whirred as he tried to understand why he was feeling uneasy. Looking over, he slowly opened and closed his fingers into the palm of his hand to realise that he could feel no sensation of the tips brushing against his skin. _

_With his left arm outstretched ahead of him, the patient's breathing started to race in shock and alarm. He sat like that for a time, as his eyes started to regain focus on the environment around him. Soon he began to see more detail upon the limb, and as more was revealed, his anxiety increased._

_The fingers in front of him consisted of five rods, hinged twice at the appropriate places with wire running from each tip down into the circular disc that acted as his palm. Here, wires, nuts, bolts, and small components collected downward to form a bulky resemblance to a wrist which then extended up towards his elbow through two thick rods. At the elbow joint the rods were fused into exposed bone and scar tissue melted around the bone/rod hybrid. Wires trailed from the wrist around the rods and snaked their way into the stump at the elbow._

_He threw his head away from the grotesque site, and continued to breathe deeply, almost sobbing, never once trying to make, or even thinking about making, his metal arm move. He lay unmoving for some time until more foreign voices became louder and louder._

'_Soldat.' came an accented voice. But he did not understand. __**Soldat...soldat?**_

_Looking forward he saw three figures in white overcoats. Two of them wore glasses, while the other had a thick beard. He was the one who repeated 'Soldat' again._

_The man tried to remember his name, but nothing came to him. Licking his dry lips, he questioned the doctor._

'_Soldat?' he croaked, his throat grating._

_The doctors smiled. Pointing towards the man on the bed, he repeated the word again._

'_Soldat.'_

* * *

'Soldier!'

Private 28259 jumped, and the glass of vodka that was clasped in his metal arm fell to the floor.

It had been bulked out, so now rather than a skeletal design it resembled more of an arm. He touched the dark substance that moulded around his electronics and could feel a slight heat radiating from the wrist area. He had been told that the small electrical impulses from the brain and sent to the muscle had been able to be tapped into since the advancement of smaller capacitors and resistors. He did not question the engineer who sculpted the casing. He had no memory of the components when asked, nor did he understand the electrical concept. But he had soon learnt.

He had learnt a new language; manners and courtesies; social etiquette; traditions and a culture. He had progressed well and merged well into the life in his Barracks. And he now knew what Soldat meant in his new language.

'Soldier! Pay up. It's closing time.' the barmaid chirped as she wiped the empty tables.

Quickly picking up the glass that had luckily bounced, Private 28259 placed it on the counter and smiled sheepishly. Pulling out a note, he handed it over to the Land Lord and started to walk out of the door into the street.

'Zima! Wait!' came a voice from the alley to his right. Spinning round, the Private saw a gangly boy in uniform like his own quickly throw a cigarette to the ground and run up to him.

'Zima, you walking to the Barracks?'

'Yes. Are you coming? You don't want to annoy the Captain by being late again.'

'No, you're right. I don't. Come on.'

* * *

'Russia?! Why on earth are we going to that cold, barren-'

'Shut your mouth, Stark, and let the damn girl finish!' growled the Colonel across the table. His stomach lay upon it due to the small seating space, and a cigar butt laid smoking in the ashtray in front of him.

'This is a sensitive subject Mr. Stark. I'd appreciate-'

'Howard, please' he grinned and leaned at the auburn aired British Special Agent. Philips rolled his eyes and an audible growl of frustration came deep from his throat.

Sighing, and with a tight lipped smile, Bee, as Howard knew her, continued.

'This is a sensitive and somewhat peculiar situation, Howard.' she explained, stressing his name, to which he gave a quick grin. 'We are going to Russia due to reports of a previously thought deceased soldier.'

Silence ensued as Howard thought. 'A soldier? I'm going to Russia to pick up a guy who's made a life for himself after the war after escape or-'

'No. Not just any soldier. We believe that these sightings are of one James Buchanan Barnes.'

'Who?' Howard scoffed, looking bewildered towards Bee as if it were meant to mean something to him.

Bee's face screwed up in anticipation of what her next words would mean to him.

'Steve Rogers' friend. You would have known him as Bucky.'

* * *

_Sorry for the __**very **__long break. Been at Uni and been awfully busy. But I remembered this gem and thought writing would make me feel much better, which it has! Enjoy! Kitty x_


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